SAME NIGHT, INTERIOR OF GOLDIE’S FLAT
Living room, bedroom, and kitchen can be seen. At rise, O’MARA and TOM are installing the dictagraph, on wall L. C. TOM is standing on chair L. C. He places the instrument—then runs his hand down to wire.)
TOM: All right, Jim, hand me that picture.
O’MARA: (C. handing TOM framed picture.) Here you are, Tom.
TOM: (Hangs picture over dictagraph, gets off of chair and backs off, seeing if it’s placed right.) There, that’ll do, I guess.
O’MARA: Nobody would ever suspect anything’s been happening here.
TOM: (Picking up bits of wire and tools from floor L. C. O’MARA puts chair TOM has been standing on, R. and brings bag C.) Pick up these pieces. Did you give the Inspector the office?
O’MARA: Twenty minutes ago.
TOM: (Putting scraps into bag.) The job took
a little longer than
I thought it would.
O’MARA: (Closing bag and handing it to TOM.) Yes, and we’d better get a gait on out of here, or the EEL and his girl will be walkin’ in on us. (Door slams off stage.)
BOTH: What’s that!
O’MARA: It must be them!
TOM: (Starts for door R.)
O’MARA: We can’t go that way.
TOM: (Indicating the window L.) The fire escape, quick. (TOM crosses quickly to window L., opens it, and goes through.)
O’MARA: (Follows TOM, but stops at window L.) Wait a minute! (Goes back, turns out light, then goes through window, closing it after him.) (Footsteps begin on steps off stage as O’MARA pulls down window.) Stage is in darkness but for the moonlight that streams in through window L. Steps sound closer. Key rattles and door is unlocked. Door R. opens just a bit at first, then GOLDIE enters, followed by the EEL.)
EEL: (Holding GOLDIE back.) Wait a minute, kid, till I strike a match.
GOLDIE: Oh, never mind, Billy, I don’t need one. (Gropes her way C. and turns on light. EEL stays at door R. listening to hear if they are followed.) Home again! Gee! but that guy what said “ther ain’t no place like home” must have travelled some.
EEL: (Turning around.) Yep! Gee, but this is some swell dump you got here, Kid!
GOLDIE: Ain’t this classy?
(The EEL hurries into bedroom and then into kitchen as though looking for some one. GOLDIE follows him, but stops at kitchen door.) What are you looking for, the ice-box?
EEL: (Coming down to C. R. of GOLDIE.) No, it ain’t that.
GOLDIE: What then, lookin’ for a sleeper?
EEL: No telling what they’re up to. You don’t think they’ve given us our liberty, without a string to it, do you? They’re Indian givers, they are.